


Like a Nicotine String of Pearls

by AbAbsurdo



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbAbsurdo/pseuds/AbAbsurdo
Summary: Richard fell in instant lust with Mr. Barrow, but he could easily fall in love with Thomas.Thomas, well, Thomas had issues to resolve.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	Like a Nicotine String of Pearls

_“Avoid the flourish. Do not be afraid to be weak. Do not be ashamed to be tired. You look good when you’re tired. You look like you could go on forever. Now come into my arms. You are the image of my beauty .”_

**Leonard Cohen**

Part A

The first thing Richard noticed, really noticed, as he stood back ramrod straight listening to Wilson’s speech for the seventh time that year alone, was the young butler’s face. He was beautiful, more than he had in fact given him credit for when he first set his eyes on him at the entrance of the Abbey. Handsome would fit him better maybe, the strong jawline and the cut lines of his cheekbones unquestionably masculine. Nothing round in the pale face.

“Excuse me. I am not a butler. I am the King's Page of the Backstairs.”

Mr. Barrow’s face was expressive against the onslaught of words coming out of Wilson’s mouth and Richard had to stifle a smirk, fists tightly closed against his thighs. Used as he was to Wilson’s speech, he was pleasantly surprised by the way the Abbey’s servants took the news for the current state of affairs.

He later followed Mr. Barrow to the room he was going to spend his nights the next couple of days, taking in the way the other man moved, heavy as if he hadn’t yet got the hang of his own body, how to navigate the long limbs, but also strangely appealing. The banter that came afterwards and the sideways smile that accompanied it turned Mr. Barrow from interesting to alluring.

Richard counted the ways he could be alone with him. To figure him out. Only for a little while, and then, maybe, a little more while. In multiple ways.

The line of his lips was round, he amended, bowed. Inviting. Richard wanted to taste the redness. He would not refuse a countryside romp with him, could actively seek it out, if chance presented itself. Richard knew from experience, chances presented to the daring. Daring, he was. 

It didn’t take long to ask him to go with him to York. The city was his territory, notwithstanding his years in the capital. He watched carefully the reactions, hiding his own interest behind a veil of nonchalance. He didn't know the specifics of Barrow's relationship with the Lady's maid, but a tendril of jealousy coiled uncomfortably around his stomach. With an effort, he pushed it away, thoughts returning to the craving his body ordered him to feed. Ms. Baxter's interference worked on his behalf and he couldn't begrudge her.

His fingers were half an inch away from Barrow's as he snatched the pair of shoe spanners from his offered hand. A little closer and he would have touched him for seconds, or even less than that. The regret gnawed inside him even as the presence of the two maids made his quest impossible.

Soon, though, soon.

In the post office and later on, as they shake hands and set a meeting time and place, Richard made his best not to stare at Barrow's bright eyes or the curling of his lips refusing to suppress his joy at the prank to Wilson. “I'll get drummed out of the regiment if they ever find out.

“You sounded convincing to me.”

“I'm very good at doing Sir Harry Barnston, I can assure you.”

“What if Mr Wilson rings back?”

“No one queries Sir Harry's orders.”

“But if he did?”

“Then they'd uncover the trick. But they couldn't trace it back to me. Right. Shall we go into York?”

It just wasn’t possible. And if it was possible or not, it had happened. Richard wouldn't dwell on it. What's done is done. Worthy it was, if he was asked, just to see the impish face breaking to laughter in front of him. The best thing about coming to Downton Abbey was the possibility of seeing his parents after a period of time he had spent away from them, to feel human again amongst their warmth. With Barrow's eyes crinkling in happiness right in front of him, he questioned the necessity of visiting them. The more time he spent with Barrow, the more he'd know about him. The doubt lasted but a few moments before guilt settled in, and home it was. If only for a while.

  
  


“I'm sorry to miss out on the fun in a way. Where shall I wait for you when you're with your parents?”

“We’ll find a pub.”

  
  


Leaving Barrow alone in the pub was a difficult decision that he mentally questioned walking along the Church he went on Sundays when he was younger. Truly, had he stayed there, he was certain his Mother would still force him to go to the mass. Had he stayed there he might have been forced to get married as well, not by his parents, who thankfully accepted that that would never happen, but by those around them and the talks and the finger pointing. Becoming the King's valet had closed many mouths and people who sneered down at him in the past, came now close to him every time he visited.

Ironic, as he was still the same person.

When he arrived home, his parents and sister ran to embrace him, ushering him inside with big smiles. His mother took his coat and hat, and from the smells alone he could tell all his favourite food had been made.

"So, the prodigal son returns," his sister, older by four years. was still as beautiful as she was in her late teens and early twenties. With three kids and a husband not particularly keen on helping, but rather fond of creating disasters at his wake, Richard always helped. Always. As much as he could. With his income he could help a lot.

"I wouldn't say prodigal..." he pulled her in his arms and swept her around. Because he could.

They sat around him and asked him questions, rarely letting his reply in full answers, and it was nice to be at home.

His mind kept going back to Barrow, alone in the pub as the time passed quickly, with food, a bit of wine and tea, and his favourite apple pie that lacked in something, but didn't ask his Mother in what. When he checked the time, he knew he had stayed more than he should. Barrow might get tired of waiting for him.

His mother, never taking her eyes off his face, noticed it. "But, you just came."

He stood and went in search of his coat. "I have brought company with me, and have left them alone for a long time."

"Company?"

"Downton Abbey's Butler."

"Doesn't he have work to do with the Royal visit?"

Richard pulled on his gloves, thinking over his reply. "He had some free time."

His mother, the same eyes as his eyes stared up at him, and she smiled sadly, but accepting. The want was inside her eyes, the want to ask for more about this man, but she didn’t. She embraced him, more affectionately than ever. "My darling boy. Wish I could see more of you. More often."

His arms wrapped around her frail figure. He kissed the top of her head. "So do I."

* * *

Waiting outside the police station, he remembered his own close encounters with the police. He never got arrested, but he had come close to getting arrested more times than he cared to count. He had been lucky, the thought. Always someone there to help, just as he helped Barrow tonight. He watched Barrow coming out of the police station, putting on his hat and looking around. He watched as the other man's eyes widened when he caught sight of Richard leaning over Lord Grantham's car. He watched Barrow as the realisation he couldn't hide dawned on him when Richard tapped his hat and then he marched towards Richard, mentally preparing himself to be left at Richard's good -or bad- will.

Half his face hidden by his hat, Barrow was standing some feet away from Richard in no time. Words from earlier, thrown at him carelessly from a slumbag of an officer assaulted his hearing while his eyes drank Barrow's countenance. Danced the tango with someone who wasn't Richard. The uncomfortable emotion ςασs back threatening to rear its ugly head. It would be a disaster Richard was determined to stop. 

“Was it you that got me out?”

Irritation wreathed in his insides wrapping around conscience and integrity, fighting to keep control of the emotions while keeping a straight face.

“No, the good fairy came down on a moonbeam,” closing his answer with a barely there smile.

“How did you know where I’d gone?”

“The landlord told me. I waited outside, followed you here. Then I showed the sergeant my card, and that seemed to settle things.” He avoided looking at Barrow’s face for more than a couple of short instances, not really watching what happened around them either. Staring down at the other man, dragging him in the alley to push him against the wall and plunder those inviting, red lips is a temptation he wasn't sure he could deny to himself. It had been the forefront thought since he laid eyes on him and the temptation had increased coming close to the reality of their situation.

Holding the card out for Barrow, he waited until the other man took it between his fingers, looking down at it, this time being unable to take his eyes off him. “The Royal Household. He must have loved that.” He instantly recognised Barrow’s attempt at finding a way out, a justification of getting arrested. “ I’m afraid I’ve been a silly boy.” Richard could see how much it cost him, emotionally, physically. He wondered how many times he had to do the same in the past, to people less attuned to understanding him.

Richard watched him like a hawk, ready to swoop down and grab its victim, letting him stew in his discomfort, cataloguing his reactions for future use. Before Barrow got the opportunity to claim his arrest was a misunderstanding or that he was found in the wrong place in the wrong time, the coiled hunger in his stomach changed into a need for comfort.

“You just need to be a bit more circumspect in future, Mr Barrow.”

  
  


He brought his finger to his lips and touched Thomas’, throwing him off his guard. Letting the other man keep the card was a subconscious move, not registering in the present. He'd have snatched it back if he had. Giving a means to people to contact him was not his modus operandi.

The drive back to Downton Abbey was quiet. Richard stole several glances at the person in the passenger's seat, but Barrow was silent, looking from his window out in the darkness. "It's been a long time since I've gone out. Long before I became a Butler. I had no idea where we'd go when I was invited, and it was a reckless move that I accepted." Richard saw his difficulty in swallowing. "I haven't been this reckless for more than five years. Silly doesn't cover it, does it? Everything I've accomplished could have turned into ashes today."

Richard hummed, unable to find words to console him.

"It's scary how it always seems to be my own fault. It wouldn't have happened to you."

"You weren't alone in that pub, Mr. Barrow. Others have been there before you, and others will be after you. Again and again. It won't be their fault, just as it wasn't your fault."

"What makes it 'not their fault'?"

"You didn't hurt anyone, Mr. Barrow, and neither did they." He set his hand on Barrow’s thigh just above his knee. “You were the one getting harmed.” Barrow turned to look at him. Richard pulled over and brought the car to a stop and his gaze locked onto Barrow’s. Deliberately staring at him, Richard moved his hand up a few inches and squeezed the firm muscle beneath it.

  
  


The kiss was unexpected only to Barrow. Richard had fantasised about it for the last couple of days. Soft mouth yielding to his own lips meeting in a slide, hot and wet, sweet and intoxicating, but before he had time to enjoy it, strong hands on his chest pushed him away.

Barrow was out of the car in seconds, retching along the road. In a state of panic, Richard wretched inched over the passenger’s seat to set his hands on Barrow’s shoulders offering comfort.

Barrow heaved and shuddered beneath his touch, trying to spit the bitterness and breathe calmly. He reached his hand behind him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Richard had no idea what the other man meant.

Oh.

_The kiss._

  
  


Even in his current state, Barrow wanted to put Richard’s possible worry his kiss was unwelcome to rest. Richard swallowed the bile down. “Are you alright?”

Barrow nodded. “Yes, it – it was, everything that has happened tonight. I’m still catching up to it,” he turned around and looked at Richard, offering a small smile. After that, the ride back to Downton was quiet again, Richard kept on stealing glances on Barrow, admiring his profile, worried for his mental state. Lines were painted upon his forehead and around his eyes. The man’s left hand was tightly wrapped around his thigh, his right foot tapped nervously on the floorboard. 

Silent again, they went on, until they reached the garage.

  
  


Out of the car, they walk towards the entrance, alone in the darkness of the night. 

“I'm not sure I've shown enough gratitude for what you did,” Thomas said out of nowhere, and there was Richard’s chance to fulfil his fantasy. His train to London would leave in the morning and the want to explore the other man’s body made his blood run faster in his veins. 

But there was something more now, powerful enough to conquer ephemeral lust. Barrow seemed young, so young, eager to grab a hold onto something and never let go. Maybe that something could be Richard. “We have to stick together, men like us.” Sticking together with Barrow meant more, in the long run. The kind of _more_ Richard had been avoiding was like a disease his whole adult life. It’s strange how he couldn’t keep his smile at bay now.

  
  


“That's the point. I don't know any men like I am. I've never just talked to someone like me.” The accent was thicker now, Barrow making a point, unwittingly pulling blood off Richard's veins agonisingly slow for his own original idea was not _talking_ either. 

  
  


“We're talking now.” The need to justify himself was overpowering. The time of talking with Barrow was given to his family. Talking was the last thing in his mind when he thought of Barrow that very same morning. Talking with him was Barrow’s secret wish and Richard’s contentment was derived from Thomas' own comfort. 

“And it feels good. Just to be two blokes, having a chat, not trying to fit in for once.” Didn't Richard himself know that even among his own, he often felt too large for the room? Barrow’s a grown man, but at that moment, he recognised the overpowering feeling taking birth inside him similar to the one he had for his sister’s children. A need to protect them from the evils of the world. 

“We all have to do what we must to get by. But yes, it feels good to be two ordinary blokes.”

“Will they ever see it our way?”

“I don't know. Fifty years ago, who'd have thought man could fly?” Voice small, hope fluttering like a small bird learning to fly. Just.

  
  


If Richard himself could change in a matter of hours spending by Barrow’s side, then maybe one day, sooner rather than later, others could change too, could see their way. 

  
  


Richard followed Barrow inside, warmth and an earthy smell of cooking attacking his senses. Barrow snuffled into the kitchen, his step heavier than usual. "Tea?"

"Always." In another place and time, he might have asked for coffee, but he hadn't seen any of it in the servants' meals and if Barrow was willing to spend more time with him, even tea would do. As much as he didn't like it.

C'est la vie.

Time to mention the elephant in the room. "I'm not saying it's the perfect time to talk about it, with what happened and all, but care to explain why you left the pub?"

Barrow's long fingers trailed the rim of the tea cup and Richard shivered at the unprovoked thought that entered his mind.

"You were late. Very late, you were. Admittedly, it was foolish of me, but when he asked, I was tempted. Didn't know where we'd go. Hadn't seen anything like this since my youth. And... even that was different. Toffs all around. People looking down on you. Didn't know that then, of course, a lad that I was. Thought we were equals there, if not anywhere else. Wrong again,” self-deprecating became a habit for him. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


With Baxter edging him to accept Ellis invitation for an evening out in York, and Ellis insisting he could do with his company well, Thomas agreed without second thoughts. Dressing up in his room, -and when was the last time he had put on anything else than the Butler livery?- he looked at the man staring back at him in the mirror. The haircut was different than the one he recognised so well, the grey more prominent, the lines on the forehead deeper than they used to be.

He had grown older and he hadn't even realised.

The exhilaration of the prank, the walking down the road laughing with Ellis, being asked to go with a handsome man... everything reignited a remembrance of the Thomas who used to be and Thomas followed each and every one of those like a moth to a flame.

In retrospect, following Chris was as stupid as hiding Isis or attempting to blackmail a man like Phillip. And Thomas was older now, he should have known better. Only Thomas had done it because he was older and he just needed to feel younger, or feel anything at all. Drinking, dancing, feeling arms around him leading him on the dance floor was the past coming up to him alive in black and white in the start, like a photograph coming alive, turning red at the edges, brimming with life and colour as the night progressed. 

He should have expected it, the crushing down, the getting burnt into ashes while at his most alive. Naive as always, high on adrenaline and alcohol, he tried to reason with the police, as if the police could be reasoned with. The headache crept slowly, beginning from the nape of his neck moving to the right and his temple, throbbing along the blood inside his veins, forwarding it to the other side of his head. He heard the demeaning words again unsettling his stomach, the relative peace he had managed to achieve the last year and a half.

When he was told he could leave, he didn't believe it.

Could it really be so easy? Free? Again.

And what about the others?

Could he spare them a thought when he had been lucky enough to survive yet again, to be left alone after being crashed down to gather his pieces into one shuttered shell of the man he used to be earlier that day? 

He swallowed hard and walked out the police station, promising to himself he'd never do anything so stupid as to land there again, on his bruised knees and scratched palms. He pulled his hat down, trying to cover his face as much as he could. Not being seen, not being judged. He looked around quickly, wondering if he was alone.

Ellis was leaning against Lord Grantham's car, tapping his hat, making his presence known.

_Here I am, waiting for you. I know of your shame._

He swallowed down the bitterness and tried to fortify his demeanour into exuding solidity he didn't really feel. He was so cold, he could feel ice entering his bones, droplets of freezing sweat running down his spine.

He didn’t need to worry. A gloved finger on his lips. “You just need to be a bit more circumspect in future, Mr Barrow.” If Thomas had his wits and the headache wasn’t trying to split his head in two with a dragon’s breath, Thomas might have questioned the circumspection of touching another man’s lips in such a manner outside a police station, when said man had just been released despite being arrested for indecent behaviour.

A man could dance with ten women and he wouldn’t get arrested. It was thoughts like this that had led him to his current predicament.

The fire inside his head was real, the beating inside his veins as strong as the blood spilled from his body so he stood silent never questioning Ellis’ actions opposing his words.

A royal card inside his pocket, smooth and fresh, and he was in the car driving home.

Home. Safety. With Ellis.

Ellis, who was nothing like Phillip’s want to be had and then felt offended and became aloof. 

Ellis, who was not open, but this time Thomas could not mistake the interest behind the open smiles and raised eyebrow.

Ellis, who was like him, in age and status. A man who was like Thomas used to be. Before everything. 

The hand on his thigh was an anchor to reality when his thoughts traveled back and forth, in the present and the past. The kiss was unexpected. Slow and languid, comforting in a way nothing had been in long, painful years that dragged and dragged like a thirsty man in the desert looking for illusive water. The faster he drank the water the more poisonous for the troubled stomach would be, and shocks assaulted Thomas’ mind. Memories of a time spent to fix himself assaulted him and the life bringing water turned around in his stomach like rats crawling inside and upwards to his chest and throat. He pushed Richard away and before knowing it, all the alcohol he had drunk that night came up. 

He could not forget. 

* * *

Barrow’s’ sure moves, pouring the fresh tea in the cups, adding honey and lemon before pushing one over to him, were watched carefully by Richard. “To calm the stomach,” Thomas said and sat on the chair opposite Richard’s. 

“Are you feeling any better?”

“It’s been, they’ve been tiresome days, even if I was released from my duties.” He took a sip slowly, rolling the liquid inside his mouth before swallowing it down. Richard looked down on his own cup. “Arguably, I may not have a job any longer…”

“What?”

“I might have been a little undiplomatic when I was informed about Carson’s return in Downton Abbey,” Barrow shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I will know by the time you return to London, I think,” he continued seeing Richard’s raised eyebrow. 

“Undiplomatic?”

“I might have banged the door on his Lordship’s face..”

Richard didn’t expect the answer. “A little?”

“And talked back to them.”

“You are full of surprises, Mr. Barrow,” he said with a proud smile.

“You didn’t think I had a backbone?”

“Not exactly. I don’t know you all that well, or at all, but you had no reason to help the rest of the staff and you did. And you asked my help to do it without being certain I wouldn’t inform my colleagues. I think you’re brave, Mr. Barrow.” Barrow looked down again, pale skin turning to light pink, thinking something Richard wasn’t privy to.

“Interestingly, I’ve spent the last hours thinking off all the times I have been anything but brave.” 

“Well, I think you’re wrong.” 

“Thank you,” he replied as if Richard had given him an expensive gift he planned to treasure. 

_What a strange man._

“Richard. My name is Richard. I’d like you to use it.”

Barrow smiled along the rim of his cup. He set it down on its plate. “I’m Thomas.”

“Pleased to meet you, Thomas.” 

“You too, Richard.”

The night didn't end there.

Thomas led Richard to his room and then went further to his own with a quiet goodnight. Richard hanged his coat and set his gloves and hat on the dresser. He lay reclined on the bed still fully dressed, his back against the headboard, thinking. Staying here alone in the apersonal room made sense half an hour ago, but now, he couldn't think any of those reasons making sense. Logically, there was a handsome man sleeping a couple of doors away, a man Richard would love to get to know better.

Odd it was, right?

The day began with thoughts and desires and ended with thoughts and desires of a different kind. There was no possibility of sleeping that night. If he stayed there, morning came, he would see Thomas for one last time, would promise they wouldn't lose touch and be gone never to see him again.

He couldn’t have that. 

Suddenly, he was outside Thomas' door, no shoes to protect his feet from the cold tiles. He slipped inside quietly, only to find the other man dozing off on top of the quilt. He shuffled forward, looking down on him. Nothing went his way that night. He refused to wake him up after the day he had in York. A passing thought to sit on the chair until Thomas woke up so they could talk a bit more... was deemed sinister.

He turned to leave Thomas alone.

“Richard?” Sounds of sheets shifting. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep and came to see if you were awake too. I was just leaving. Go back to sleep.”

“You seem quite more sensible that I have been in my youth.”

“Sensible? No. You were sleeping peacefully and I didn’t want to wake you.”

The smile he saw was sad. A bit broken. “Considerate, then, you are. Not many of those around here.”

“Should I return to my room?” It was dangerous to stay. It was late, and someone might need Thomas. Morning would come quickly enough and Richard would leave. “It is the sensible thing to do.”

Thomas patted the bed, next to where he was sitting. “Sit for now, talk for a bit. Tell me how life in London and in the Royal houses is.”

“Nothing interesting ever happens. And if it does it happens to other people,” he whispered sitting down on the bed next to Thomas who moved a bit away.

Richard talked and Thomas listened, their eyes on the door, half their attention on sounds coming from the corridor, their breaths close enough to tickle each other’s skin. 

  
  


Richard’s instinct to turn around and cover Thomas with his body hadn’t faded away. How could it with a warm body next to him, but Barrow had changed into Thomas and Thomas was a man he wanted to get to know better.

Morning came quickly, and he sneaked out of Thomas’ bedroom as the other man kept watch to not get caught by anyone. “I wonder where Carson spent the night. I doubt he returned home.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, everything had to be done to perfection, didn’t it?” Thomas halted and pulled Richard back to his room. “Shhhh… wait,” he breathed against his ear, the leathe forearm on his chest holding him captive against the door. Richard shuddered, closing his eyes to avoid the knowing smirk he was certain he would see on Thomas’ full lips. The expression that met him when he braved enough to raise his gaze to Thomas was fearful. Worried they would get caught. Richard found his hand and enveloped it with his own squeezing gently, the leather soft in his touch.

“I’ll see you soon,” he pecked Thomas’ lips, looked left and right in the empty corridor and dashed to his own room unseen.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Tindersticks' Pretty Words,  
> there is a part b.  
> The reason I post is because this chapter can stand on its own.


End file.
